


The Space We Share

by FeuillesMortes



Series: The Days We Passed By [1]
Category: 15th Century CE RPF, The White Princess (TV)
Genre: 15th Century, Angst and Feels, F/M, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 23:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11977698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeuillesMortes/pseuds/FeuillesMortes
Summary: This is a short drabble I wrote as a sort of fill-in fic between episodes 2 and 3 of The White Princess.





	1. Chapter 1

Each day as soon as Elizabeth opened her eyes, she regretted doing so. Her confinement room was poorly lit, and the smell of all those crunched dried leaves and wildflowers covering the floor had become overbearing as of late. Cecily and Maggie kept her company, but one does get tired of seeing the same faces all the time. For all of Maggie’s sweetness, she could not hold a conversation like her lady mother did. And Cecily, well, Elizabeth found herself holding her temper around her sister lately.

She pulled herself up on the bed sheets. “Why is the room so dark today? Is it night already? Did I oversleep?”

The answer came from across the room, amidst two dark silhoettes. “Actually, that’s not the case sister. Lady Margaret said your bedchamber was too light, that it might disturb the baby. She ordered that the curtains should be drawn henceforth.”

Elizabeth blinked, incredulous. “Too light? She cannot mean it!”

Cecily simply shrugged. “I reckon she knows this sort of thing, don’t you?”

Before she could reply Maggie extended a hand to her. “Come Lizzie, it’s almost time for your visit. You did sleep a tad more this morn. Don’t you want to change?”

She accepted her hand, nodding. “It must be the baby growing. I feel I’m exerting myself more often than not.”

Since her confinement Elizabeth didn’t need to wear her elaborate court gowns, but in the name of decency she would still wear a kirtle over her chemise when receiving visitors. Elizabeth offered her back so that Maggie could begin back.

“You should pay heed to your weight, you know.” Cecily said, as she approached, ready to brush her hair.

Elizabeth’s glaring must have gone completely unnoticed by her. “What? I just think she should not be slack with her appearance if she wishes to please the king. Especially if she wants to keep him.”

Elizabeth turned around to face her. “Meaning what, my dear sister?”

Cecily went around and began brushing her hair. “You should not test him, Lizzie. He’s a good husband. He comes here every day to see you and he has not taken any mistress since your confinement.”

She was mortified. “Mistress?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know such thing exists. Papa had plenty of them. Do you remember Jane Shore? Do you remember what happened to her?”

The voice that answered was barely above a whisper. “I wish I could forget it, but no.”

_My poor mother. Were you ever truly happy with father?_

A knock on the door shook her out of her reveries.  _It must be him._

“Maggie, Cecily, could you two attend the door, please?”

As the doors were opened she found herself checking her garments and hair to see if anything was amiss. Henry looked as usual. He was not too vain, but also not simple at all. He had good taste in dressing. She curtsied low as Henry entered her rooms, though his reaction was negative.

“Please, there’s no need for that. I mean, there’s no need for that. In your state.” He turned to check if Maggie and Cecily had left the room, before gesturing the bed to her. She graciously accepted the opportunity to sit. Her feet felt so sore those days. He cleared his throat while taking a short walk around her bedchamber.

“Why is it so dark here today?”

“The curtains, your grace. Your lady mother ordered them to be drawn.”

He nodded, without a further thought to the subject as she expected him to. He eventually came around and stopped in front of her. She watched him fidgeting with his fingers.

“I can barely see you, but… I mean, if that’s for your health…”

She got up and brought a candle to her bed rest, signalling for him to sit in a nearby chair before lowering herself again. With the added clarity she could watch his grey eyes, his auburn curls, the way his Adam’s apple went up and down before he could open his lips to say:

“How are you feeling today?”

She took a couple of seconds to answer. “Fine, I believe. Bored, perhaps.”

Henry half-smiled. “I’m sorry we can’t bring you musicians here. I’m sure a minstrel would be just the right thing to cheer you up. I’m afraid this room is not very merry, is it?”

It was her turn to half-smile. “I have my sister and my cousin Maggie to keep me company, your grace.”

“You and your ladies don’t enjoy embroidery? Or playing backgammon or dice?”

“I fancy playing cards.”

“Well-”

“But I don’t have a deck.” she interrupted. “At least, I don’t have a deck with me since I went into sanctuary.”

“Then it shall be done. I shall bring you one.”

She blinked, surprised by how spontaneous he had been. “You would, Henry?”

He grinned, a bit smugly. He seemed to like the sound of his name when she spoke it, she had recently noticed.

“I’ll bring you a fresh new deck of cards for you and your ladies to play, if it pleases you.”

“It does please me, thank you.” She nodded, thanking God the room was dark, else he might see she was actually a bit… red. As both their smiles began to fade, they shared a comfortable silence. She saw him stealing some glances at her before averting his gaze and searching for another thing to look at, but coming across short. The silence soon turned uncomfortable.

Henry started. “I should… I should be going.”

“Wait, Henry. Do you… Do you want to feel if the baby is kicking?”

He hesitated. “Is it?”

She touched her belly, while trying to feel something. “No… Not at the moment, I’m afraid he’s not.”

He nodded, before coming to the sudden realisation of what she had just said. “He? You said ‘he’?”

“It’s going to be a boy.” She insisted.

“How do you know that?”

 _I saw it in a dream._ “I just do.”

From the way he looked at her, Henry didn’t believe it.

“Well, I should be going now. Before my mother finds me here, anyway.” He said, getting up from his chair.

“Your mother doesn’t know you come here?” 

He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

Elizabeth was taken aback. “I mean, your mother… All these days you came here, she didn’t know you were visiting me?”

“I don’t tell my mother every step I take, if that’s what you mean. No, thank you very much. Do you?”

 _Do you tell your mother everything we talk?_ That was the unspoken question she heard him say. It seemed she would always be a conspirator to him, after all. The thought made her feel strangely dismal.

She looked away “No…” 

Sadly, that was true.

“Good day, Elizabeth.”

She watched Henry’s dark silhouette disappear behind closed doors. He had not called her Lizzie.


	2. Chapter 2

In the early hours of the day his study was always quiet. The morning dew rose from the gardens to his windows; the air was fresh, almost holy even. In the quietude of the morning Henry found the perfect time to attend to the constant letters that piled up on his desk. In routine he had found the means to dedicate himself to one of the multiple duties pertaining the King of England, no less burdensome than the one that wielded the scepter or the one that carried the sword.

The letter he had before him this time bore the seals of the Lord Mayor of London and those belonging to the aldermen that represented the merchants of the City. It could only be described as a desperate urge for a peace with Burgundy masked as a petition. Was it possible that a single letter could make him feel tired so early in the day?

A knock on the door was followed by the footsteps of his mother entering the room. He turned his head to greet her.

“Mother.” He had forgotten that she was the actual reason he was an early riser himself, though he did not lack for childhood memories of joining his mother at attending the first mass of the day. 

“Good morn, Henry. I see that you’ve started your work already.”

“Quite so, mother. What brings you here?” He turned back to his desk to tend to one of the many papers that graced it. 

From the corner of his eyes he watched her fidget with her chaplet before mustering the courage to ask him. “Are you still decided on sending your uncle Jasper to Burgundy?”

“This question again, mother.”

She was not taken aback. “You cannot be parted from him, Henry. If anything happens, he is your most trusted ally.”

“Which is why I’m sending him as my envoy.”  _Who exactly can’t be parted from him, mother? Me or you?_ “We’ve argued about this before. My mind is already settled on his going.”

“But if anything happens in England-”

“ _If_ anything happens, mother.” He turned to face her fully. “Then I shall see to it myself. As it is the duty of the King of England.”

His mother’s lips were sealed into a thin line, her expression something that he could not decide whether it was resignation or stubbornness. “I have heard the servants talking, Henry.”

He turned back to the papers in front of him and took up his quill again. “I did not know you were of a mind to listen to servant talk. Anything of my concern?”

“You have seen Elizabeth in her confinement.”

“How so?”

“You have sent her gifts.”

This time he put down his quill. “Aye, I have. Is not gift-giving a part of marriage?”

His mother vigorously shook her head. “Do not let her sweet words take a hold on you, Henry. Often the loveliest smiles hide the most dangerous intentions.”

“You can rest assured. Elizabeth is not in the habit of exchanging loving smiles with me, mother.”  _Because she hates me, that’s why._

Lady Margaret did not seem any less relieved by it, though. “Beware, Henry. The foulest treachery springs from love.” 

She left him at that, yet her words persisted with him all day like venom infecting a wound.

Henry was still trying to push back those words when he finally made his way to Elizabeth’s room. He tried to bury them in one of the darkest corners of his mind where insecurity and anxiety combined drove him further into paranoia. At dusk, after a full day of work he could feel his senses clouded, his mind fogged. He did not fully understood what will power drove him to his wife’s rooms, yet there he was.

Henry stopped in front of the door to her bedchamber, knocked lightly and waited. Another knock, followed quickly by a third one. When he finally pushed open the heavy door the scene he had in front of his eyes was quite picturesque. Elizabeth, heavily pregnant, had her three younger sisters laughing, all girls playing and mutually tickling each other. For a split second he saw the most adoring, genuine, gleeful smile adorning his wife’s face. It was not a coincidence he had never seen her like this, had never seen her private smiles. Something akin to jealousy bitterly rose inside him. The girls’ giggling all but came to a halt when they turned to see him. 

For a moment he felt very small, very intruding of a world he would never understand. Half of his life he had lived among men; his uncle was the only familiar presence he’d had in his formative years; his upbringing was all very martial: hunting and riding, knowing his way with a sword, lance and bow. For his mother had prophesied he was destined to be king, and a king-to-be does not rest idle. During exile he would often think of the mother he had left behind in England, would sometimes wonder if he could ever make her proud. He had known women; the French court was never lacking in opportunity for any man seeking pleasure. Yet a woman’s mind remained, at best, something he only ever had a frail grasp on.

Upon seeing Henry the York girls all instinctively gathered behind Elizabeth and it was almost comical, if not strangely sad, the sight of children hiding behind the belly of a pregnant woman. His wife tapped their arms lightly, bidding them to come forward to bow before him. It was then that her sisters all looked to their feet and spoke in unison, as if rehearsed: “Good evening, your grace.” 

He gave them a slight nod, not sure why he was the one feeling like he had just got caught at a crime scene. Elizabeth finally spoke up: “If you excuse them, your grace, they’ll be returning to their rooms now.” 

The girls curtsied, then fled like a flock of birds. He turned to see Elizabeth standing near her bed, caressing the curve of her belly. “I’m sorry, Henry. I wasn’t expecting you”, she said, whilst looking very content with herself.  “I thought you would not come today.”

His words came unbidden. “As it happens, I had errands to run. I cannot always play the peasant watching his wife’s stomach swell.”

She flinched, furrowing her brow, but acquiesced. “As you say.”

Henry did not know why he suddenly felt so angry. Her lack of protest made him even more frustrated - he needed to see her reacting, to see her wrath, see anything that might give him a glimpse of the flesh and blood human being he had married, not of this perfect doll she tried to show him.

“Could you tell me what your sisters were doing here, instead of being with your mother?”

She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms, as if hardening herself. “Lady Margaret never said a word about my sisters. I don’t see a reason why they should not be allowed in my rooms.”

He could not help but see her point. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Fair enough.” Silence reigned in the room until Henry cleared his throat, trying to start again. “Have you… Have you received my gift?”

Lizzie tipped her head sideways and gave him a knowing smile. “I have. As a matter of fact, Henry, I also have a gift for you.”

He was not sure he heard her right. “You do?”

She went into one of her drawers, from which she got a piece of embroidered cloth. She went back to his side and gave him what could only be a handkerchief. He began unfolding it very carefully - It was a red dragon, proud and beaming, holding a delicate white rose beautifully woven into the cloth.

“I… I’ve tried to think of something that could be of use to you. You don’t need to like it.”

Her voice had a hesitant edge to it. Perhaps if he looked at her he’d see his wife anxious for the first time. He could not leave his eyes from the handkerchief, though. He touched the embroidery very slowly, feeling all of its stitches against the touch of his rough fingertips. “It is… Most beautiful.” he murmured. 

He eventually glanced up from the embroidery, just in time to see Elizabeth half-smile. “It’s not like I have much to do here, truly. Although I cannot speak for the quality of my stitching, I’m afraid. Candlelight is not the best companion when it comes to needlework, you see. But I can always make another one when I’m out of confinement.” 

“No, I want to keep this one.”

That must have surprised her. “… You do, Henry?”

He hummed, and she looked exceedingly proud of herself.  _She is stunning_ , he thought, dumbfounded. He tried to remember a time he thought she looked as beautiful as she was in his eyes at that moment. He had heard men complaining about their pregnant wives, had heard derogatory terms of how their pregnancy made their wives undesirable. Yet, looking at Elizabeth at that moment, he could not understand them. Her skin had an unearthly glow to it, her hair was shinier than any jewel he could think of. She just had this air of self-contentment that was utterly intriguing to him.

He folded the handkerchief into his doublet. “I’ll keep it here Lizzie, so it shall be with me at all times.”

Could it be possible that he was truly seeing his wife blush? He had not realised he had spent a long time openly staring at her till she was the one to overcome the awkwardness between them. She laced an arm with his and rested her hand on his elbow. “What did you do today, Henry?” 

Henry was caught so off guard that the day just passed felt like it had happened ages ago. “Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid. Except the aldermen of London have handed me a petition to renew the trading license with Burgundy. You can see how this puts me in a difficult position.”

She furrowed her brows together and this somehow gave him assurance to go further. “I can see how the merchants of London are likely to suffer from the blockade, yet I cannot give them a trading deal while peace has not been assured. But the concerning issue is that I cannot have the whole city unsatisfied, only waiting for an excuse to plot against me.”

She nodded. “I see.”

Henry sighed. “I never thought that being king would put me in conflict with myself. Ruling a kingdom can be quite relentless at times”. Before he ascended to the throne, Henry’s vision consisted of a rather black and white world. Ruling a country was proving to be quite the opposite.

Lizzie smirked. “On the contrary, Henry. From what little I’ve seen I would say that much of being king revolves around being constantly conflicted.”

He chuckled, and she went on. “But perhaps there is a simple solution to it. You could always appease an alderman with the offer of a knighthood. Dubbing a merchant costs you nothing, yet this is something he’ll boast of until the last of his days.”

He pondered, amused. “Is that what your father would do?”

“Oh no. If my royal father ever disagreed with the aldermen he would make his opinion blatantly clear to them.”

Henry chuckled again, but decided he would not make the same mistake. A king should not be levelling his power with his subjects if he wished to make his reign absolute. “I reckon your plan could work, Lizzie. A subtle act of coaxing, that is.”

She smirked again. “You see, I like to think that I have some very good ideas.” She leaned into his ear and whispered. “But don’t tell anyone.”

A lightning thrill took over him then. He trapped her body against his, refusing to let her slip away that time. “You know, I rather think that myself too.” His thumbs drew lazy circles at her sides. Henry was certain that this was sinful, yet for all the gold in his kingdom he could not care.

From that closeness he could see her eyes dancing along his face. “You know what a good idea would be?” She caressed his chest with the back of her hands, very lightly. “Releasing my mother. ”

 _For Christ’s_ _sake._ She did it. She had ruined the moment again. He let go of her as if burned. “Lizzie, don’t.”

“Why? Lady Margaret is still to produce a proof that my mother was behind Francis Lovell’s plot. It is unfair to have her locked up without anything against her.”

For a second Henry could not believe his own ears. “Anything against her? Her circumstances, her connections, her privileged position to act? God almighty, Lizzie! Can you even believe in yourself saying it?”

Her bottom lip quivered. “At least send for my mother when the baby comes. I cannot do this without her, Henry. I simply cannot. I need her here.”

He sighed. He was tired, he was so, so very tired. “I’ll talk to my mother. It’s all I can promise you.”

She looked heartbroken. “You are the king.” She whispered, very quietly, looking away from his eyes.

He took a long breath. “Lizzie, listen. I promise to help your family. I’ll make sure your sisters are well married to lords who will take good care of them. Nothing bad will ever happen to your family again.”

Her hands went instinctively to her belly. Her face looked so stricken it scared him. “Lizzie, what is it? Do you feel ill?”

She turned her back to him. “I’m just tired. I need to lie down and rest.”

He should go to her, take her in his arms and tell her how much he meant his vow. He wanted to tell her that nothing would ever happen to their baby, that he would be a good father, the father he never had. That he promised that their child would never suffer any harm. Yet his promises sounded hollow even to his own ears, and his words died before they even came to life. Perhaps some small part of him knew he could not keep his promises after all. 

After a moment he mustered the courage to go to her. He took one of her hands and squeezed it. “Everything will be fine.”

From the way her hand did not squeeze his back, she did not believe him.


End file.
